Cold Feet

I've had a rough week. It started with an epiphany on Monday, while I was baked, that I'm scared shitless of moving in with my boyfriend in January, which we've been planning to do since May. I tried not to worry too much at the time, thinking that perhaps my doubts would fade with my high. But unfortunately, almost five days later, my primary emotion regarding the move remains one of intense anxiety that didn't exist (or at least hadn't surfaced) before the week commenced. Each morning since, I've awoken feeling as though I've landed right back where I started Monday night: trying to separate fear from intuition and figure out what the hell I want. I still don't know the answer. I mean, I love him. I want him. Very much. But am I ready to take this step? My last roommate experience didn't end so well (<--- understatement of the century), and this will be my first time ever leaving home, let alone moving in with a guy I've been dating for less than a year. It's been a confusing string of days, to say the least.

To make things more complicated, Rob is in Boston with his family this weekend picking out our apartment. Because I don't want to move without my Bichon, Daesyn; because the owner of the only apartment in our price range that allows dogs wants an answer by the end of the weekend; and because Rob is reluctant to continue "us" long-distance; I've got less than two days to decide the fate of this relationship. No pressure.

I've spent much of this week discussing my dilemma with trusted friends and family members. Talking through best- and worst-case scenarios. Avoiding sleep. My loved ones have promised their support no matter what I choose. A few have also offered advice or opinions that have helped me to see my options for what they are. Still, I can't seem to stop flip-flopping. While weighing the pros and cons of our relationship, I've seriously considered breaking things off immediately. A few times, I've even resolved to -- only to change my mind a few hours later. Sometimes I wonder if the confusion alone is enough of a reason to run screaming in the opposite direction.

Yet just when I think I've made up my mind to tell him I'm not ready to follow through with what I promised; I remember everything I love about him, and my mind just can't seem to drag my heart along with it. All the little quirks and habits and features I've commited to memory without even trying. The way he subconsciously tilts his head all the way to one side when forming an idea. The different shades of green his eyes assume, depending on the lighting and his mood. The pitch of his voice. His comforting embrace. His entire gamut of smirks, frowns, and every expression in between. The unique balance of idealism and realism he incorporates into his world-view. The way he gets me. The way I don't have to "perform" for him or try to be anyone I'm not, and vice versa. Spending time with him feels as refreshing as much-needed solitude. He's become my best friend. I cherish the fun times we've had together and those we have planned for the future. Even his naive faith in his favorite Presidential candidate is endearing. And, as annoying as I sometimes find him when I'm questioning our relationship (like now), I do love hearing his rants -- about politics, his bitchy family, winter driving, the spots on his glasses... True, he may not always be the most thrilling man to listen to, but how many girlfriends receive such an open invitation into their boyfriends' unveiled thoughts on a daily basis? Well, the RSVP date has arrived... As nervous as I am to take the risk of moving with him, I may be even more scared of the regret I'd risk by staying behind. Perhaps I owe it to both of us to give this relationship the best chance I can. Or perhaps I'll get to Boston and be miserable, and stuck there for the next year. I don't know.

What I do know is that either way, I'm frightened out of my mind.
So, wish me luck, my friends. And the will to decide.
Over and out.